Would You Rather?
by Wordie
Summary: When she laughed, she snorted, and this was decidedly NOT acceptable behavior in a young woman only once removed from the throne ... COMPLETE.


**QUICK NOTES**

**This is a looooong oneshot. Got away from me … At any rate, it's pure, sweet Kristoff/Anna fluff 'n stuff. I like writing about that awkward stage between them, when they might be kinda-sorta feeling tenderly towards each other in ways beyond friendship, but they are just ... so ... awkward. I wrote this in the aftermath of my other, multichapter story—which deviates from ****Frozen**** after the two first meet at Oaken's. This could still be read from a canon perspective, though a few subtle things might seem off. They haven't had that kiss yet, for one thing.  
**

**Anyhoo. Please review, if you could.**

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The princess of Arrendelle wasn't in the habit of giggling delicately.

When she laughed, she snorted, and this was decidedly _not_ acceptable behavior in a young woman only once removed from the throne. Still, she did it now—this inelegant snigger—and with an unfortunate bite of apple in her mouth, no less. The result was a sort of choking, spluttering, hacking row from which it took several minutes to recover.

"I'm all right," she gasped.

Kristoff, who was sitting _near-but-not-too-near_, lifted a hand to strike her gently on the back. But then he stopped himself.

"Uh … here."

He dropped his hand into the satchel at his side and fumbled around until he'd located a flask of water. The princess accepted it gratefully and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist.

"_Whoooo_!" she breathed, fanning herself ineffectually. "That was unpleasant." She passed the water back to Kristoff. "Sorry," she added, gesturing to the spray of produce she'd released in his general direction. "Um … sorry about that."

She made as though she would brush the partially chewed bits of apple from his sleeve, but then hesitated. He didn't notice—just snorted in his own way—tolerant, bemused—and stretched back out on the grass.

"It'd be just like you to outlive hungry wolves and, you know, _exposure_ …" he murmured idly, "and then choke to death on a piece of fruit." He had an elbow thrown across his eyes, but she could hear the smirk in his voice. She chucked what was left of the apple at his head.

And missed. _Of course_.

"I think some of it went up my nose," she confessed, searching for a napkin to blow into.

"That's … that's pretty disgusting, Anna."

"It stings."

He waited for her to fully comprehend the awkwardness of her situation—and of her tendency to overshare. She didn't.

She _never_ did. She _never_ seemed to experience the full burn of humiliation—at least, not as far as _he_ could tell. Certainly not in the way he did, all red-cheeked and flustered and _mortified_. And that made her antics, quite frankly, unfair.

And OK, all right: maybe kind of endearing. But only just. And anyway, all the more reason to adhere to his strict policy of _under_sharing. Safer that way …

Next to the princess—sitting on her wool tartan blanket, in fact—was a bizarre little creature with spindly arms. He gestured with them eagerly. "Is it my turn?"

Anna waved him on. "Go ahead."

The snowman clapped his hands and produced a happy little trill. _His_ laughter, it turned out, was quite fit for royalty.

"All right," he said, pretty much quivering with enthusiasm. "Would you rather live in a perpetual summer or … an eternal winter?"

They were silent for a moment.

"I don't think …" Anna began, then sighed. "Olaf, you asked that last time."

The snowman looked at them expectantly.

"And the time before that," added Kristoff.

Olaf nodded. "And?"

"And what?"

"Would you rather—"

Anna threw up her hands. "Summer, I guess," she said. _Again_. "I've had enough winter to last a lifetime." She waved her hand dismissively as though making light of it all (no big deal—just something that _happened_). But then she sensed a bristling silence just _radiate_ from the sprawl of limbs that was Kristoff, and she began to splutter for entirely different reasons than a mouthful of inhaled apple chunks.

"I mean, you know. I like the beach. Maybe. I'm not really sure. Haven't actually _been_ since my parents … since before I can remember. And flowers."

Kristoff squinted at her from beneath his elbow. "What?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I like them?"

She bit her lip and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Kristoff blinked at her stupidly—and for far too long—and then retreated back under the relative safety of his forearm. His cheeks were flushed with … _somethingorother_ … though if Anna had been paying attention, which she wasn't, she might have remembered that the kingdom's own ice harvester _extraordinaire_ was impervious to heat, thanks to her sister.

Olaf was oblivious, as per usual. "That makes sense," he remarked, nodding to himself—though it really, _really_ didn't. He turned to Kristoff and smiled broadly.

Kristoff pretended not to notice.

"Kristoff?"

…

"Kristoff?"

…

"_Kriiiiistooooff_—" the snowman crooned.

(_Sigh_) "Not playing."

"_Aw_," the other pressed. "Come on!"

Kristoff shook his head without removing his arm.

"Come on," repeated Olaf. "Don't be an old _grumpy-pants_." He scrunched his lips up toward his carrot so that he looked like a bad-tempered old man, and his voice was as exaggeratedly churlish as a cuddle-mongering snowman could make it. "_Play_!"

"No," came the reply. Anna could actually _hear_ the mountain man brooding beneath that elbow. She imagined him digging in his heels, fisting his palms like a child. It was an unexpected image, her large, cagey, long-limbed friend downsized to a petulant boy—an intractable urchin, heated with resolve and grubby from his life in the woods.

"Um," she ventured. "How about another question?"

Undiscouraged, Olaf clapped his hands. The effort produced a poor, scraggly, _twiggy_ sound that completely failed to match his zeal for the game.

"Ooookay," said Anna slowly, drawing her words out for time. She examined their surroundings for inspiration but found _not_ a _thing_ in the clearing where they sat. "Would you rather … have … incredible strength … or … um …" What else? "Extraordinary speed?"

"Oooo, oooo!" Olaf twitched on his odd little feet. "_Pick me_!"

Anna gamely scanned the others first: Kristoff lolled, impassive, in the sun and Sven was working his jaw around a carrot. The reindeer returned her gaze mildly.

"All right, then," she concluded. "Olaf?"

"Strength!"

This actually surprised her. It's not like the snowman was capable of swift movement on his diminutive … legs? Limbs? Appendages? She took a furtive glance at his … lower regions … and then looked quickly away.

"Oh … Right, then." She turned to Kristoff and nudged his foot with the toe of her shoe. "What about you?"

"Hrmmph."

Anna frowned. "Great," she said dryly. "Thanks for that."

He mumbled some sort of acknowledgement, but Anna refused to be deterred. She fished out another carrot from Kristoff's satchel and pointed it at the animal.

"Sven?"

Sven smacked his lips and regarded her with pity. It was obvious: she didn't speak reindeer.

"Oh, come on," she needled, unconsciously mimicking the snowman. "Just, _play_ _along_."

The reindeer sighed and looked at his best friend. Kristoff didn't move—appeared to be dozing (_dull_, and also _why?_)—but then …

"_Speed_," came Sven's reply.

Anna glanced from Sven to Kristoff and back to Sven. "Really?" she asked, genuinely taken aback. "How come? I mean, wouldn't it be easier to pull the sled if you had, like, super ungulate strength? You know, reindeer brawn?" At this, she sort of laughed and snorted at the same time. She clapped a hand over her mouth. _Embarrassing_.

Sven's pelt twitched.

"_Well, you've _met_ the wolves, so_ …" He stretched his maw for yet another carrot. "_There you are. Speed_."

She could see the logic in this, she guessed—especially for a gentle, herbivorous creature like Sven. Besides, he was already plenty strong … Sven was. The reindeer.

She reached out and scratched behind the softest part of his left ear and avoided looking at his companion.

From there, Anna, Olaf, and Sven continued to play the game, and they discovered much that was surprising about each other, though this had not been her intention when Anna first suggested it. Not really. Probably not … Maybe.

Either way, she found herself dreamily content, intoxicated by the sun's warmth, and willfully capable of believing that all of Sven's answers were his and only his.

"Would you rather," she asked at one point, "travel the world all alone, or spend your entire life in the place of your birth but, like, surrounded by friends and family?"

Olaf, predictably, leapt to respond first.

"I always want to have my friends close. For _hugs_, and to tell _stories_. And we can braid each other's _hair_ ..."

No one bothered to point out that the snowman possessed merely three twigs for hair and that this would not require much effort on their part. Except for maybe Sven, who did not have the benefit of fingers.

"_Travel_," he replied next. "_Alone_."

Anna couldn't decide. On the one hand, she'd like nothing more than to see the world and meet its colorful people and learn all there was to know about its many cultures. She'd lived enough of her life (all of it, really) confined within the walls of the castle. On the other hand, though, she'd spent far too much of it by herself.

"I'd stay in Arrendelle, I guess," she said carefully, "as long as it meant that I'd never have to be … well …" She shrugged and let the thought trail off into the sweet, warm air between them. A breeze stirred the grasses around their picnic spot; it smelled like lilacs.

Sven gazed at her sympathetically. Ignoring him, Anna tugged a stray wisp of hair from her mouth and hastened to change the subject.

"Would you rather find yourself plagued by incurable hiccups or—_oh_!—the inability to taste _chocolate_?" She bounced on her knees, pleased with herself, and answered her own question as though anyone could possibly doubt her response: "_Hiccups_!"

Sven simply looked at her. "_I think chocolate is toxic to reindeers_."

They glanced at Olaf.

"I don't have taste buds."

Anna let this sink in for a moment. Then she continued.

"Would you rather have the ability to fly or to breathe under water?"

"Oh," sighed the snowman, "how I'd like to be able to _fly_. And talk to the _birds_. And see what _clouds_ feel like—"

"_Fly_."

Anna nodded. "Fly," she agreed, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "_Duh_."

They all fell silent. Above them, the aspen leaves quivered and sent shifting, dappled patterns of light across their faces. Anna groped in her mind for a new question.

"Would you rather ... be able to see the future or change the past?"

There was a pause. Olaf appeared thoughtful. Sven twisted in place to reach a tickling spot on his hindquarters. The trees shivered and quaked.

Anna waited. Then, impatient as ever, she shot her hand in the air.

"What are you doing?" asked Kristoff in a flat voice. He'd finally dropped his arm from his eyes and was observing her with an unreadable expression, propped up on his elbows. The bridge of his nose had turned pink in the sun.

"What?"

"Are you raising your hand?"

"What?" She scoffed. "No."

"You were. You were raising your hand … and you were doing it to answer _your own question_."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"I was not."

They narrowed their eyes at each other.

...

"OK."

Anna stared him down.

"Fine," she retorted. "If you're so eager to participate, _all_ of a _sudden_, why don't _you_ answer the question!"

Kristoff sat up and crossed his arms defensively.

"I don't—" he began. "I'd rather … I'd rather not."

Anna opened her mouth to insist, in her quick and candid way, but something about his reluctance made her pause. She tilted her head and studied him intently. He squirmed—actually _squirmed_—under her gaze.

"Can you not … do that?" he muttered, the pink of his cheeks deepening from some cause other than the sun.

Anna raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No."

"Then why don't you answer the question?"

"I don't want to."

"You're boring."

"I'm not!"

She sniffed triumphantly. "Then play the game."

He sighed. "Anna, if I answer the question you'll start to pester me for more. And then you won't let well enough alone. And I just—" He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I don't like to tell people … things."

Anna was quiet for a moment.

"But," she said softly. "I'm not _people_."

They fell silent—even Olaf, who'd watched their exchange with wide eyes as though witnessing a tennis match. And then …

"_Am_ I?"

He looked at her, relenting.

"No, Anna" he murmured. "You're not … _people_."

His eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, and then—realizing he had nothing to occupy them—he rubbed the back of his neck. Anna fiddled with a few blades of grass. The snowman laughed giddily and trundled off to pick flowers.

"I smell better than reindeer, though," she offered. "Right?"

She smiled.

He smiled.

Sven _harrumphed_.

"Present company excepted, of course," she amended, patting Sven between the antlers. He shot her a forgiving glance.

Kristoff, meanwhile, shrugged his shoulders. "Change the past," he said, apropos of nothing. "I mean, if I could—if I could choose. If I had a choice …"

The princess blinked in surprise. "Wait. Huh?" she blurted. "I mean—_really_?"

"What?"

"You would change the past."

Kristoff looked confused. "Uh, yeah."

"You're not at all curious about … what's next?"

He just stared at her. Shook his head mutely. Had he given the wrong answer?

Anna was watching him studiously.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Why, what?"

(_Sigh_)

"Oh. Well," Kristoff took a deep breath. "I can't change the future, can I?"

"What do you mean?"

"The question said I could see the future. I could, um, _see_ it but that doesn't mean I could prevent bad things from happening, right?" He gazed off into the middle distance, appearing to have some sort of fixed interest in a plain slab of granite that rested upslope from their little hideaway. "I wouldn't have been able to stop my parents from dying," he continued. "Or your sister from, well, _freezing_ … stuff. Or you from—"

Anna plucked a daisy by its stem and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. "From what?" she asked quietly.

Kristoff was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged again. Pulled on a loose thread from the cuff of his sweater. Wouldn't look at her.

Sven heaved a sigh between them. Kristoff turned and scratched him methodically beneath the chin.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Anna shook her head. "I'm sorrier."

She reached out and brushed the apple bits from his sleeve. The knit was threadbare in places, and heavier than it should be at this time of year, but Kristoff wasn't bothered by it. Still, she could find him something warmer—something more durable—before winter came.

"No more games," she concluded. "I don't want to play anymore."

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**That's all. A bit rough around the edges. I may drop in and edit here and there, but it's complete.**


End file.
